


Without Her

by SlyKing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlyKing/pseuds/SlyKing
Summary: I catch my breath and stare at my image which is reflected through the mirror. My eyes meet the dark gaze of a stranger. His hair falls lamentably in front of his empty eyes. The shadow of past smiles has deserted the commissure of his now inert lips and the trace of his tears, too quickly chased away, still dig furrows on his cheeks devoid of color.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Without Her

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for my english, it's not my native language.

Three o'clock in the morning. The clock is ticking, my thoughts are pounding with regular and infinite _ticks_. My eyes are closing, my mind is running out. My heart beats too hard : he screams and screams when I can't. My knotted throat prevents me from producing any sound. _Silence_.  
However, outside, the traffic give the London's nightlife its tempo. Some distant festive noises reach here, echo against the walls of my room, then fade before resuming.  
With difficulty, sore limbs from having suffered so much, I straighten myself. I'm cold. A fresh wind rushes through the half-open window and carries with it fragments of scattered conversations. For a long time, I stand in the middle of the room. Frozen. Motionless. My thoughts do not follow my gestures, refuse to order my body to move.

A car honks. I jump with surprise. That’s the signal. My feverish legs carry me to the bathroom where I collapse on the toilet seat. The light attacks my retinas. Motionless again, I thus remain long minutes with, for company only, my breath. The cold seeps into my body through the soles of my feet on these glazed tiles.

From here, it is impossible to hear the city getting restless. It feels good, a little calm... Yet I feel empty not to hear them live in the middle of the night. I don’t want to be alone. Too fast, I stand up. I hang on to the sink so I don’t fall. My head turns. I catch my breath and stare at my image which is reflected through the mirror. My eyes meet the dark gaze of a stranger. His hair falls lamentably in front of his empty eyes. The shadow of past smiles has deserted the commissure of his now inert lips and the trace of his tears, too quickly chased away, still dig furrows on his cheeks devoid of color.  
I lay my hand on the cold surface of the glass; my fingers leave an ephemeral mark.

Where did I go?  
Where did Her love go?

I turn to the bathtub and kneel in front of it to draw water. The swirling sound of the drops that strike each other skin my ears. Yet I stand still for long minutes. My eyes close again, exhausted, my mind clouded by an incessant wave of sadness.

When did I stop living?  
And when did She stop loving me?

My face leans forward. My forehead is against the white surface of the bathtub. It’s fresh. Words and thoughts escape from my mind that swirls to the sound of water that never ceases to flow. Maybe it will overflow, but I no longer have any willpower. My arms are too heavy, and my head, inert, remains leaning against the resin.

The minutes pass, inexorable. A few drops hit the ground, tickle my skin. Two hands grab me. Violent. An electric shock runs through my body and I escape with a dry movement before backing against the wall, harmless. I am getting back on my feet with a reality that escapes me. Crowley’s slender silhouette is stirring. The whirlwind of the water stops. A fresh hand lands on my cheek.  
I’m turning my head.  
He forces me to look at him.  
I look down.  
Shame. Anger. Disgust. Despair. Bitter feelings mingle with the salty taste of my tears that begin to flow again. His arms surround me. I push him away miserably. My legs give way under me. He holds me back. He supports me. He walks me to my empty room. He helps me and tucks me in. He strokes my hair.  
I push it away again and hide my face in my hands.

_Don’t look at me.  
Don’t look at me again._

He insists. My sobs double. The gaping hole of my heart deepens more with each shake. I feel his arms around me. His hands behind my back. His hair against my cheek. His whispers that get lost against the walls as he tries to comfort me in vain. And then he tells me to scream.  
My mind hangs on these words. They become vital, invading my body, my chest, my throat.  
So I scream, I shout myself hoarse until my voice breaks. And again, I continue in silence, supported by his arms, by his strength, by his presence. I scream until my strength finally fails me and the pain falls asleep for a while. My head rests against the pillow. My fingers, tensed around Crowley’s shirt, release their grip. But he won’t let go. He accompanies my movements and lies beside me.

Outside, the party noises were silent. The night wind swept away my despair and spread it to the rest of the street. For a few minutes, the time stopped around me. Around us. It gave me a break. My hand slips into Crowley’s to find the strength to face tomorrow. To face the rest of my life _without Her_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D


End file.
